


Aphrodisiac

by bellamyblue



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: AU after 4x03, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Aphrodisiacs, Chloe Decker Needs A Hug, Declarations Of Love, Dubious Consent, F/M, Face-Sitting, Lucifer deserves love dammit!, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Devil Face Reveal to Chloe Decker, Torture, Vaginal Fingering, no Eve (even though we like her), so many feelings, somebody please tell Dan what the hell is happening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24522577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellamyblue/pseuds/bellamyblue
Summary: Chloe Decker was given everything she needed to take down the Devil, but she failed, tempted by the desires of her heart and flesh. Kinley may be in jail, but unbeknownst to our heroes, he has an even crazier acolyte who has taken it upon himself to punish Chloe for her sins. And what better punishment than to give her exactly what she desires?Set after 4x03 if Lucifer decided to keep working cases with Chloe (despite the fact that he's barely speaking to her), if Eve never showed up (even though we love Eve and wish her all the best), and Father Kinley wasn't as much of a loner as he seemed...
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 15
Kudos: 273





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tagged as dub-con because it's basically a sex pollen fic (only with a made-up torture-inducing aphrodisiac instead of pollen) and consent can never be 100% when drugs like that are involved, although I tried to establish that Chloe does consent to Lucifer as much as she can in such an extreme situation. I did include the non-con archive warning because what Gregoire (my crazy evil priest OC) does by drugging Chloe is non-consensual (rather than what Lucifer does, which is more of the dub-con warning). Hope that makes sense! 
> 
> At the end of the day, it's all a contrivance to get Deckerstar to talk about their feelings, because tbh, that's all I ever want. 
> 
> I have no idea how realistic the sexual logistics of my made-up drug are, but let's just pretend it makes sense. 
> 
> And finally, while we adore Chloe, Ella, and (sometimes) Dan, remember ACAB irl, so stay safe if you're out protesting!

Chloe wasn’t quite sure why she felt so uneasy. This case should be simple: a dead parishioner from a church full of petty quarrels and old grudges, her body found near the chapel. Chloe and Lucifer were at the priest’s home to gather more information and sniff out potential suspects while Ella worked the forensics. Nothing fishy, nothing complicated, and even Lucifer seemed to be on his best behavior, refusing to make passive aggressive remarks about priests or churches—although she suspected that had more to do with the fact that he was still barely speaking to her, even months after their falling out, than with any desire to be polite. And yet, in the midst of all this normalcy, something was bugging her.

Maybe it was the three deadbolts she’d seen on the door to the living room when they walked in, or the way the room seemed so much smaller than it should have been based on the rest of the house, or the way she couldn’t seem to stop sweating.

“Lucifer,” she began, feeling a bit feverish now, “I think we should go.”

“It’s a little too late for that, Detective Decker.”

The priest—Father Gregoire—no longer seemed like the friendly, mumbling witness that he’d appeared moments before. He smiled, but it felt manic and wild, the smile of a serial killer pasted above his starched white collar. Pausing in the half-open doorway, Gregoire opened his hand and let the object he’d been holding fall to the floor, before stepping back into the hall and slamming the door shut behind him, deadbolt after deadbolt clanking home.

When Chloe saw the syringe, her heart stuttered, her mind filling with memories of a poison that seemed to burn her up from the inside. And she did feel hot—so, so hot. She thought of the strange moment, maybe ten minutes earlier, when Gregoire had suddenly slapped at the back of her neck, when she’d felt that sting… “Mosquito,” he’d said apologetically by way of explanation, and she hadn’t thought anything of it, except that perhaps the father needed to get out more. Now, her hand flew up to that spot, feeling the bruised skin there on her neck. She started hyperventilating, frozen on the couch.

Lucifer, however, was all motion, springing up and barging towards the locked door, throwing his celestial weight against it. Strangely, though, the door barely moved, not even dented by his supernatural strength. He stared at the door in angry amazement, then banged on it with both fists.

“What is this?” he growled. “What did you do to her?”

“Now, now, Mr. Morningstar,” came Gregoire’s voice, crackling through a speaker hidden somewhere on the far side of the room. “All in good time. You’ll notice I took extra care to prepare my home for you. A heavenly remodel, you might say. Reinforced steel in all directions, laced with holy water to weaken you. Cuts down significantly on the square footage, but I suppose that’s a small price to pay in the service of our Lord.”

Lucifer growled with rage, but Chloe could hardly hear him over the pounding in her ears. It felt like her chest was caught in a vise, leaving her gasping for breath. _I don’t want to die…_

As if he could hear her thoughts, Gregoire continued. “Right now, Detective Decker, you’re probably wondering if you’re dying. The good news is, you’re not—death wouldn’t quite be a suitable punishment for you, now, would it?”

“Punishment?” she asked, her voice sounding small and far away.

“For your failure. For your weakness. Kinley gave you everything you needed to take down the Devil, but you couldn’t resist temptation. You were ensnared by his charms, lured by his false promises.”

_Kinley_. Pieces started to fit together in her head, and although she still felt too warm, the rushing heartbeat in her ears faded a little. She stood up, steadying herself on the arm of the couch.

“Father Kinley never mentioned you. I thought he worked alone.”

Gregoire laughed sharply. “He didn’t always. We were partners once, but he tried to abandon me. He thought I was overzealous, that I took things too far. But he couldn’t see the truth. He needs me! Where is he now? Stuck in jail, and I’m the only one left to continue the work! I’m the only one left to punish you for your sins!”

Chloe shot a worried glance at Lucifer. If even _Father Kinley_ thought this guy was overzealous, they were in more trouble than she’d thought.

“Punishment is my job, Padre,” snarled Lucifer. “And I will cook up something especially hellish for you if you don’t give her an antidote right now!”

“I already told you, it’s not poison. It’s an aphrodisiac. The most powerful aphrodisiac ever created, in fact.”

Now that he mentioned it, Chloe had started to notice that certain areas of her body were warmer than others. Her jeans started to feel uncomfortably tight against her crotch, rubbing in all the worst—best—places.

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You failed because you gave into the desires of your flesh. What better way to punish you than to give you exactly what you want?”

Chloe sat back down, head spinning. _This is not happening, this is NOT happening…_

“The dose should last about four hours, during which time your levels of arousal will increase to unbearable levels—extremely painful, or so I’ve heard. An agonizing torture worthy of Hell itself. Climax can provide a temporary relief, but at a certain point, the effects of the drug will be so strong that you will hardly be able to move. You will be begging anyone who can hear you to give you that pleasure. But… uh-oh, looks like the only person who will hear you is, let’s see… the Devil himself.”

Chloe and Lucifer locked eyes. She swallowed nervously, unable to read his expression. Part of her couldn’t help noticing the shape of his jaw, the neat lines of his stubbly beard, and a wave of heat grew in her gut. _Shit_.

“Now, if Mr. Morningstar is as noble as you claim, he would never take advantage of his friend and partner while she’s under the influence of such a powerful drug. If you’re right about him, you’re in for a torturous few hours, Detective, and I’m sure seeing you in such agony won’t be pleasant for him either. But if you’re wrong… well, he’ll prove himself to be the evil, selfish, lying Devil of the history books and have his way with you. And that will be its own sort of torture, won’t it? To know that he really is the King of Hell, the Prince of Lies, and that you let him inside of you, that you begged him for it.” Gregoire’s voice got soft then, and more sinister, somehow. “And I wonder, Chloe, which of these scenarios you would prefer?”

“Fuck you,” she spat in response.

“I’m afraid that, as a man of God, that’s not really possible,” he laughed. “And furthermore, I actually need to head out of town at the moment. But it seems like your partner is available!”

Lucifer growled again, and Chloe could see that his eyes were glinting red.

“I’ve taken care of everything so that your associates at the precinct won’t miss you until the dose has worn off. Detective Espinoza will be informed of your whereabouts later this evening and be along to let you out. I really do need to run, but I hope you’ve learned your lesson, Detective Decker.”

There was a quiet click and the speaker went dead.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, Lucifer leapt into action, smashing against every inch of the room, trying to find a weak spot. The walls, the ceiling, the floor—over and over, he strained and pushed and slammed, but all he accomplished was revealing the steel beneath the carpet and sheetrock, confirming Gregoire’s story.

Chloe followed more slowly, trying to ignore the growing heat between her legs as she examined the walls, rifled through the drawers and cabinets, looking for anything that might help them escape, but there was nothing. Her phone had no signal, no wi-fi, jammed somehow. Where there should have been windows was only more steel, and the two tiny air vents on either side of the room were too small to be of any use, Chloe’s slim wrists getting stuck inside after only a few inches.

Lucifer had resorted to kicking the door when the first groan escaped her lips, unbidden. He swung around to face her, concerned.

“Are you alright, Detective?”

“It’s no use, Lucifer. There’s no way out.” She tried not to, but another groan slipped out, and she sat heavily on the couch, pressing her legs together. “This is happening.”

He came to kneel beside her. “What do you want to do? What… what do you want _me_ to do?” His voice sounded desperate, as if he were the one drugged. “I mean… tell me how to help you, now, while you still have your wits about you. Whatever you ask for… later… I’ll ignore. Just…tell me what you need, Chloe.”

The use of her first name caught her off-guard. She glanced up at him, clutching hard at the fabric of the couch to try and distract herself from the sensations in her crotch.

“Why do you want to help me? I _betrayed_ you, Lucifer. Maybe… maybe I deserve this.”

He caught one of her hands with both of his, his fingers feeling strangely cold against the flush on her skin.

“No. Never.”

“But I _lied_ to you. I tried to hurt you, to send you away, back to Hell.” She shook her head, tears brimming—whether from arousal or guilt, she couldn’t tell.

“It doesn’t matter! It doesn’t change the fact that I lo…”

He caught himself before the words spilled out. _Was he starting to say love?_ she wondered, acutely aware of the press of his hands on hers.

“…that I can’t stand to see you in pain. You’re still my partner. And I… I will do whatever you need me to. I will sit on my hands for the next four hours, or I’ll tie you to the chair, or I’ll let you use me however you wish, or… just tell me, now, so I know it’s what you truly desire.”

Chloe pushed down the thought of what she really, truly desired, back into the dark and secret place of her heart where that longing lived. Instead, she asked, “Use you?”

Lucifer glanced away, stumbling over the words a little. “I know that I repulse you, and that you don’t ever want to have sex with me, and I would never… I won’t take advantage. But if you wanted, I could… I mean, just to help ease your agony. It would be less like sex and more like… using me, like a tool, to help you get off. I’d keep my trousers on the whole time. It wouldn’t be for me, not at all, and I would never speak of it again, not once. I just want… to help you get through this.”

Chloe stared at him, eyes wide, considering. That secret desire kept surfacing, despite her best efforts, and she knew it had nothing to do with any aphrodisiac. She’d felt it for a long, long time, and even seeing Lucifer’s other face, his Devil side, hadn’t dulled it. Something clicked inside her, a realization she’d been trying to suppress since that moment in the loft when she saw the truth: Lucifer really was the Devil, and… _and she loved him anyway._

The emotion was there, awake now in her mind and her heart, and she couldn’t un-name it. It was terrifying, scarier than facing serial killers or staring down the barrel of a gun, scarier even than seeing Lucifer’s burned, red skin and hellfire eyes. She had been so afraid that she had crossed an ocean to escape it, buried herself in Kinley’s lies, trying to hide from the force of her own love. But here, in this moment, an edge of pain and arousal from the drug frayed the walls of her heart, leaving her raw and exposed to the reality of how much she cared for him, how badly she wanted never to lose him… and how deeply she trusted him, even in the face of this impossible situation.

She had been quiet for a beat too long, and Lucifer seemed to realize what he’d said, backpedaling anxiously, pulling his hands away. “Or not. I know how you feel about me and I understand if you don’t want me to touch you, and I won’t. I’ll stand over there in the corner, and I won’t come near you, or watch you, or…”

“Yes.”

He paused, confused. “Yes…?”

“Yes. I want you to help me get off. Like you said.”

Lucifer blinked in surprise. “Really?”

His eyes followed her as she stood, shakily, gripping the couch with one hand to steady herself and starting to undo the fly of her jeans with the other.

“Are you sure, Detective? You’re not too far gone already, are you? This is really what you want?”

“I’m sure, Lucifer. I’m still me. Still rational. I’m sure.” She yanked at her jeans until they began to slide down her thighs, kicking off her shoes. Then, trying to inject a little teasing confidence into her voice, she added, “Come on, now, where are those moves you’re always bragging about?”

Lucifer let out a huff of hesitant laughter, but he remained where he was, kneeling beside the couch, like he was afraid to move and reveal the whole thing to be a dream—or worse, a prank. Finally, Chloe had to pull him up to stand before her, where he stayed, frozen, as she shimmied the rest of the way out of her pants. She could feel that her underwear was already damp, her labia pulsing with the need for some kind of friction. She was aroused enough to be uncomfortable now, but still, her partner didn’t move.

Carefully, deliberately, she took his hand. “I’m sure,” she reiterated, meeting his eyes, and then, refusing to look away, she moved his hand to the place between her legs, cupping his fingers around her and pushing his palm up against her clit through the moist fabric.

She gasped—and Lucifer did, too, his eyelids fluttering shut as if _she_ were touching _him_ instead. It took all of her restraint not to immediately start fucking herself against the heel of his hand. She rocked, slowly, trying to savor the sensation despite the growing _need_ that was burning hotter in her veins and her skin.

Her self-control seemed to finally convince Lucifer that she was not already overwhelmed with manufactured lust, that she was still aware enough to actually consent to his offer. He started to move his hand, pressing the pads of his middle fingers into the fabric over her vulva.

Chloe let herself lean forward, resting her forehead against his shoulder. His suit jacket felt cool compared to the fever that raged within her. He adjusted his position, supporting her waist with his free arm and nudging her legs wider with one knee.

When he slipped his hand inside of her underwear, she couldn’t hold back a moan. His long fingers slid in teasing circles for a few moments before his thumb finally landed over her clit. One finger pushed inside of her, exploring, then another.

The effects of the aphrodisiac seemed to be increasing exponentially now, slipping past discomfort into mild pain. Her breasts ached with the need to be touched, as did the erogenous zones along the sides of her abdomen, the places she had long ago discovered drove her wild. A buzzing grew at the base of her skull, making it hard to concentrate on much of anything outside of the feel of Lucifer’s fingers on her and in her, the warmth of his other arm looped around her waist. She let him take more of her weight, some small part of her feeling bad that he was having to support her, literally and figuratively.

Another small part of her registered that Lucifer really was as good at this as he’d claimed, as all of his ex-lovers had testified. He seemed to have some sixth sense of what felt good for her and what didn’t—perhaps his desire mojo at work? His fingers gravitated towards all the spots she preferred, the rhythms she needed. It was as if he could read every small sigh and twitch, immediately adjusting in response to her slightest movements. She could feel an orgasm building much faster than usual, and while some of that was certainly due to the drug, she’d also never been with anyone this skilled at pleasing her, not even herself. She thought she knew how she liked things, how best to bring herself to that peak, but she had never felt anything like this. Lucifer played her body in the same way he played the piano—an artist, a prodigy, effortless and graceful and yet completely in control.

For some reason, that image—a memory of Lucifer sitting at the piano in the penthouse, his fingers flashing over the keys in that beautiful way of his, a painting in motion, taking her breath away—was what sent Chloe over the edge, moaning and digging her fingers sharply into his sides as her orgasm briefly washed away the pain. Her legs buckled, but Lucifer held her up, his thumb still circling around and over her clit to coax her through.

“I’ve got you, Chloe,” he whispered, over and over.

When she caught her breath again, Lucifer laid her back on the couch, carefully arranging the throw pillows—one under her head, another under her hips. She let her eyes fall closed, taking advantage of a moment without that ache, that need for more.

“Thank you, Lucifer,” she breathed. “That was… UHNNG!” A moan erupted mid-sentence as the pain of the aphrodisiac returned suddenly, worse than before, sparking down her spine into a knot in her gut, the space between her legs burning. She was reminded of every time she’d ever been shot, of those desperate hours fighting poison, of the day she’d given birth to Trixie.

“Don’t worry, Detective, we’re just getting started,” Lucifer assured her, but she could hear the undercurrent of worry beneath his jaunty words. She opened her eyes to find that he had removed his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, coming to sit on the other end of the couch between her feet.

Swiftly, he removed her underwear and propped her knees up, spreading her legs again so he could lean in close. Chloe whimpered the moment his fingers returned to her skin and began pushing at her entrance, and that should have embarrassed her, but all she could think was that she needed more.

Her shaking hands fumbled at the hem of her blouse, pushing it up as high as it would go without sitting up. _Shit, why couldn’t I have worn a button-up today?_ She kneaded at her own breasts, wanting to remove her bra but overwhelmed by the steps needed to do that—get her hands behind her, unhook it, pull it off…

“Do you want me to…” Lucifer began.

“Yes!” she interrupted, not entirely sure what he was asking but knowing that she needed it.

With his free hand, Lucifer managed to remove her shirt completely, never once losing his rhythm below. He slid his fingers beneath the plain, black cup of her bra and ran them over her nipple, softly at first and then harder.

“Yes, please, I need…” she moaned, hardly knowing what she was saying, letting her own hands fall back to her sides, limp. What was it Gregoire had said? The drug would get so strong that she would barely be able to move. Chloe could feel it happening already, the all-encompassing pain and need and arousal throbbing through her muscles, making them weak. She closed her eyes again and gave in, letting the sensations wash over her and wondering how she would survive if the drug’s effects got any stronger. _This has to be the worst of it. Please, let this be the worst of it._

It was not.

She came again with a strangled cry, her body arching up from the couch of its own volition. Once again, the pain ebbed for a moment, leaving her gasping.

“Chloe?”

She felt Lucifer’s hand on her cheek, fingers still wet with her fluids. She knew she should respond, let him know she was okay, say thank you, but everything felt so fuzzy, so slow. She wasn’t even sure if she could open her eyes.

The pain hit her again like a runaway train, crashing into her every cell. She thought she might be screaming. Her body was on fire, her body was burning…

And then Lucifer started using his mouth.

The fire coursing through her nerve endings abated slightly as he pressed his tongue against her clit, the stubble on his chin and cheeks scraping deliciously along her thighs. Everything still hurt, but again, she was struck by his skill, by how quickly his movements tinted all of that burning and stinging with pleasure. He added a finger back into the mix, eliciting another groan.

“More, please,” she begged. If she had been able to string a coherent thought together, she might have noticed that the more the drug affected her, the more stimulation she needed to combat it. But in her current haze, she only knew she needed… something….

Lucifer obliged, pushing a second finger into her alongside the first and curling them up to hit that perfect spot, matching the rhythm with his lips on her clit.

Chloe soon lost track of how many times she’d come, of time altogether. She couldn’t quite keep up with what her partner was doing—his hands and tongue and lips, all over, moving so skillfully—only that it felt amazing and she needed more of it. She was sometimes aware that she was mumbling unintelligibly, but what she was trying to say, she couldn’t tell you. She knew Lucifer was speaking, too, when his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, but it all melted together into a hum of his voice, deep and encouraging and sexy. The only word she could pick out was her name, the sound of it (instead of his usual “Detective”) still sending a little jolt through her gut even in her drugged state.

She had no idea how long they’d been going when, for the first time, Lucifer’s hands did not immediately come to her aid when the pain rushed back into her body after an orgasm.

“Lucifer?” she gasped, fighting to open her heavy eyelids and see why he had stopped touching her.

“I’m so sorry” he said, leaned back against the couch, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion and his breathing ragged. He massaged his jaw with one hand, lips still slick from pleasuring her. “I just… need a moment… This is a lot, even… even for someone with… my stamina.”

Chloe bit her lip, trying not to whine with pain. If the Devil himself needed a break from sex…

But the agony was growing, and she couldn’t keep herself quiet, and the Devil had more than just his hands and his mouth. She gathered all of her strength to sit up and move closer to him—although what she imagined would be a controlled movement ended up being more of a scoot and a flop, her head landing ungracefully against his arm. She rolled her body towards him, trying to land in his lap, inching her leg across his until her crotch was directly over his thigh.

“What are you doing?” he asked, a note of panic in his voice.

“Fuck me, please, Lucifer. I need… I need it,” she panted. She could feel the hard length of him beneath his slacks, pressed sharply against her leg.

She groped at his fly, trying to get it open, but her fingers couldn’t quite seem to obey her brain.

“No, Chloe,” Lucifer said, pulling her hands away and holding them down at her side. “We agreed—my pants stay on. Just give me a moment to recover.”

She groaned in pain and frustration, letting her head fall forward onto his collar bone as her clit throbbed, every muscle on fire, pulled taut. Almost against her will, her hips began to move, rocking over his thigh just to get some friction. The silky fabric of his pants grew wet beneath her, bunching gloriously against her clit.

“Chloe,” Lucifer breathed, his breath hitching as her leg brushed against his cock, but he didn’t move to stop her.

“Fuck me,” she pleaded, over and over, humping his leg erratically. It wasn’t nearly as good as Lucifer touching her or eating her out, but it was enough to stave off the pain a little, building to a mild peak. After a few minutes, she heard Lucifer choke back a groan, but she wasn’t quite clear-headed enough to register what it meant. Instead, she let her own small orgasm wash over her. She fell limply to one side and then, unable to catch herself, slid all the way to the floor, splaying out over the cheap, itchy carpet.

A moment later, Lucifer followed, and this time when she cried out as her pain became more intense, he was ready. He knelt between her legs and lifted them up, supporting her waist with both hands so that it was the perfect height for his waiting mouth—no pillow necessary. Chloe gasped, half in agony and half in delight, to have his tongue back on her, fucking into her before dancing across her clit. But it wasn’t long until she could feel him slowing down again, still tired.

“Lucifer, please,” she begged as his movements grew sluggish.

Suddenly, in one fluid motion, he pulled away, flipped himself over onto the carpet, and lifted her whole body above him, settling her clit back against his mouth. Her mind took a moment to process the change in position, but her body instinctively knew what to do. She braced herself with her hands on the edge of the couch, hips bucking over his lips and chin, scraping on his stubble. At first, he tried to help, flicking his tongue up as best he could and then sucking at what felt like every individual nerve ending. But in the end, he let Chloe do most of the work—she found a sudden reserve of energy, desperate and uneven, to fuck herself against his face, head thrown backwards even as she leaned all the way forward to support herself on the couch.

She could feel that this time was different, the pain slipping away almost completely long before she reached her climax, her mind overwhelmed not by torturous need but by pure pleasure. Despite the soreness, the overstimulation, a pressure was building up within her core, stronger than any orgasm she’d ever known. She cried out, frantic, her clit bumping up against Lucifer’s upper lip and nose with every movement.

When it finally crested, her vision went white, her muscles seizing, and for a long moment, Chloe knew nothing but bliss. The world disappeared, erasing the discomfort of knees pressed too long into carpet and the sting of thighs scratched raw by facial hair. She forgot the hours of aphrodisiac-induced torture and the panic in Lucifer’s eyes when she’d begged him to fuck her. She couldn’t tell if she was moving or making noise or breathing, or even if she was still a person.

Her awareness returned slowly, inch by inch, the fuzz of pleasure in her brain clearing.

She was crumpled on the floor beside Lucifer, her legs caught up awkwardly beneath her where she’d fallen. Her arm was pricking with pins and needles, asleep under her ribcage. She could feel her heart racing, thumping in her ears, her skin still flushed and sticky with sweat, and she thought she could feel tears leaking from her eyes. She was thirsty—so thirsty—and everything felt sore.

“Lucifer?” she managed. “I think it’s over.”

No answer.

“Lucifer?”

When he didn’t reply, not even with a groan, Chloe forced herself to roll over and face him—still lying on the floor and wearing the evidence of her many orgasms on his face, eyes closed, unmoving, unusually pale. A sudden, dreadful thought struck her, and she tried to remember that last climax, riding him, covering his mouth and nose. Had she suffocated him and not even noticed? Had he merely passed out? She made him vulnerable to injury—did that extend to his need for oxygen, too? Anxiety flared in her chest. _No, no, no… He’s okay. He has to be okay._

“Lucifer!” She struggled to push herself up, reaching with one shaking hand to check his pulse, and let out a sigh of relief when she felt his heartbeat. She shoved at his shoulder to try and bring him back to consciousness, but he didn’t stir.

Chloe tried to crawl over to the coffee table where two still-full glasses of water waited. It felt like eons ago that Father Gregoire had brought them in from the kitchen and set them on the floral-print coasters, back when this still seemed like an ordinary visit with an ordinary priest. She wondered if the water had been a gesture of faux hospitality to lull her into feeling safe, or if perhaps it was a final touch to Gregoire’s whole torturous scenario, a way to ensure she didn’t die of dehydration before fully processing her “punishment,” a little wink to tell her he’d known all along what she would choose.

It took her nearly ten minutes to reach the water. Her whole body felt liquid, mushy, with limbs hanging uselessly beneath her. And when she finally did get there, she ended up spilling quite a bit, the water sloshing out of the glass as she tried to gulp it down, her hands trembling.

Carefully, she brought the second glass to Lucifer, covering the top with one hand to prevent it from spilling while scooting backwards against the carpet on her bare ass. She prodded him again and this time, he groaned in response, rolling onto his side.

“Lucifer, come on, you need to drink this.”

“What’s happening?” he moaned, sitting up with eyes still closed.

“You passed out. I think we both did.”

Lucifer shook his head petulantly but took the water and drank some. Then—predictably, she supposed—he handed his glass back to her, still half-full, and fumbled around on the floor for his jacket, retrieving his flask to drink instead.

Chloe wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, leaning against the couch, her naked and sipping water, him in his disheveled and stained suit sipping whiskey, both streaked with sweat and come. She sifted through her hazy memories of the past few hours, over and over, trying to understand everything that had happened. She knew she should feel… ashamed? hurt? sated? furious at Gregoire for orchestrating the whole thing? But her mind kept returning to that moment when Lucifer had refused to fuck her, when he’d made that strangled noise as she dry-rode his thigh. Had he come in his pants? She snuck a glance towards him and saw the evidence that he had indeed, splotched down the inside of his slacks. Biting her lip, she wondered how torturous this had been for him, to focus solely on her pleasure even as she moved without regard for his.

Another moment surfaced in her mind, the one when Lucifer hadn’t stirred, when she’d felt that flash of panic that perhaps she’d killed him. Why hadn’t he stopped her, if he couldn’t breathe? What would have happened if she had killed him, selfishly humping his face to ease her own pain and fill her own needs while he struggled for breath beneath her? How could she have ever lived with that?

She was feeling angry now, not at Gregoire—although she was sure that would come later—but at Lucifer. Why did he insist on putting his own needs last, putting himself at risk, just to help her? For all of his self-centeredness working cases, when push came to shove, he threw himself into danger to protect others, to protect _her_ , even if the danger wasn’t necessary. It was almost like a kind of self-harm, she thought, like Lucifer sought sacrifice because he wanted it, or because he thought he deserved it.

_But you don’t deserve it_ , she thought angrily. _And I don’t deserve to watch you destroy yourself for me._

“We should get cleaned up,” Lucifer said, interrupting her internal tirade. “There’s no telling when Daniel will show up to rescue us, and I don’t think we want him walking in on this.”

Chloe watched in disbelief as Lucifer stood and began to collect her scattered clothes, finding a pack of tissues in a drawer somewhere. He wiped at his face, his pants, as if nothing were wrong, as if they hadn’t just spent hours fighting the effects of a painful sex drug, as if he hadn’t nearly suffocated beneath her.

“What’s wrong, Detective?” he asked as he passed her the tissues, followed by her bra and underwear.

“Why would you do that, Lucifer?” She tried and failed to keep the rage out of her voice, jerking a tissue from the pack to dab at the stinging, tender skin between her legs. “I can’t believe you actually…” She scoffed, too angry to even form words.

Lucifer froze, fear flashing briefly across his features, followed by anger of his own. “You asked for this, Detective. You told me you wanted my help.”

“That’s not what I…”

She was interrupted by the sudden slam of a deadbolt outside the door.

“Chloe!” came Dan’s muffled voice, followed by the second deadbolt.

Lucifer passed Chloe his suit jacket and she took it gratefully, covering herself, even though it wasn’t anything Dan hadn’t seen before.

Dan burst through the door a moment later, followed by a team of officers, guns out, ready for anything… or so they thought. They stopped short at the sight of Chloe, naked on the floor except for the jacket wrapped around her like a towel, and Lucifer, fluids streaked across his shirt and slacks, both completely disheveled, the room stinking of sex and sweat.

“It’s not what it looks like, Daniel,” Lucifer began.

“Oh my god, Chloe! Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Dan rushed towards her, but she stopped him with one hand, shaking her head.

“I’m fine, Dan.”

“What the hell happened?” Dan spun around and glared at Lucifer. “What did you do?”

Chloe stood, her limbs still feeling too flimsy to hold up her body. “We were drugged. The priest who lives here, Father Gregoire, injected us both with some kind of torture-inducing aphrodisiac.”

Lucifer tilted his head and met her eyes, a question forming on his lips, but she shook her head again, just a little, so Dan wouldn’t notice.

“He dropped one of the syringes by the door…”

Chloe tried to point, but found instead that the whole room was turning sideways, her vision going dark. She collapsed, and the last thing she saw was Lucifer rushing to catch her before the room faded to black completely.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the whole thing all at once--I just split it into chapters to increase the *drama* :)

Waking up in a hospital bed was nothing new for Chloe. What was unusual, though, was waking up in a hospital bed with Ella Lopez’s face inches from her own.

Chloe blinked. _Why is she in bed with me?_

“Ella?”

Ella startled awake, jerking upright, shaking her head to clear it. Chloe saw now that her friend was not in the bed but sitting cross-legged in a chair beside it, pulled much closer than was necessary. She had fallen asleep, her head falling forward onto the pillow beside Chloe’s.

“Decker, hey! You’re awake!”

Chloe tried to mentally check in with her body but found that she couldn’t quite feel any distinct sensations. Generally, she felt as though she’d been run over by several tractor-trailers, but everything else—legs, arms, back—was fuzzy. She thought briefly about sitting up, but gave up on that idea before even trying.

“What’s… Why do I feel…?”

Her voice sounded terrible, too—hoarse and raw.

“They’ve got you on some preeeetty intense painkillers,” Ella explained. “I mean, look, I get it, Lucifer is hot, but I’m not sure the human body was designed to withstand having that much sex in one go.”

 _Oh my god_. Memories clicked into place, reminding her exactly how she’d gotten here. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting it all wash over her: Lucifer’s hands, his mouth, bracing herself on an unfamiliar couch, a pain so strong that it still ached in her bones now.

Ella continued, oblivious to her onslaught of memories. “We’re still running tests on that sex drug back at the precinct, but I saw the preliminary results, and damn, Chloe! That stuff is potent. I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t know how you managed to survive a dose that strong. I mean, the aphrodisiac components were bad enough, but that shit also had torture-grade chemicals in the mix.”

Chloe tried to nod, found the movement too difficult, and settled for humming in agreement instead. She pushed through the waves of remembered pain and pleasure, trying to focus on the priorities. “How long…?”

“Just a few hours.”

“Is Trixie…?”

Ella smiled. “She’s fine. She’s staying with Maze and Linda, but they’re going to bring her to the hospital later tonight to see you.”

Chloe sighed internally. Whereas only a few days ago, the thought of Trixie under the care of actual-demon-from-Hell Mazikeen would have worried her, now, she felt only relief. No one else on Earth could protect her daughter like Maze could, especially if Kinley or Gregoire had other fanatical associates she wasn’t aware of. Trixie was in good hands, which meant the next priority was…

“And Lucifer?”

Ella scoffed, running one hand through her hair. “It’s crazy, but he is somehow still on his feet. I guess all of those orgies at Lux over the years were perfect training for a sexual torture drug.”

 _Right—they all think Lucifer was drugged, too_. Chloe wondered now if she would regret that lie, but she supposed it was a bit too late. The truth would be impossible to explain, anyway.

“Is he here?” she croaked. Their last conversation floated to mind, reminding her that she’d never gotten to say aloud any of the things she’d realized or felt while trapped in that sham of a living room. He didn’t know why she’d agreed to let him get her off, and he didn’t know why she’d been angry. Despite the heavy, wooly feeling of the painkillers, a small spark of urgency blossomed in her gut. She needed to tell him, needed to explain. They’d wasted enough time not sharing the whole truth with each other.

“No, he went with Dan. They got a lead on someone matching Father Gregoire’s description trying to catch a flight to Argentina. He would have gotten away hours ago, but everything’s grounded because of the storm coming in.” Ella let out a huff of laughter. “I guess the Big Guy wasn’t on his side, after all.”

Of course. It figured that Lucifer would have bolted as soon as he could, especially if he still thought she was angry at him for trying to help, for being so intimate with her. “Did Lucifer seem… upset?”

Ella shrugged. “Yeah, he was pretty pissed, but you know how he gets. _I’m the Devil! I must punish evildoers!_ ” she declared in a fake British accent.

Yes, she did know, all too well. Chloe felt her little bloom of urgency grow, tying knots in her stomach. Of course she wanted to catch Gregoire, too, but she worried that Lucifer might make it personal, might take things too far.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“Not sure. But the doc says they wanna keep you overnight, anyway. I’ll text him and tell him to stop by as soon as he gets back?” Ella offered. “I’m sure he wants to see you and make sure you’re okay.”

But Lucifer did not come to the hospital at all that night, or the next morning, or in the afternoon when Chloe was finally discharged. The doctors let Trixie roll her out to the car in a wheelchair, since even with some pain meds in her system, trying to walk with her sore hips and aching crotch felt impossible. Dan drove them back to her apartment, filling her in softly on the hunt for Gregoire so as not to worry Trixie in the backseat. The priest had apparently given up on finding a flight in the middle of such a bad storm and disappeared from the airport. Ella was trying to trace the origins of the aphrodisiac, and Maze had already packed up her knives to start her own search. Upon further investigation at the church, they’d discovered that Gregoire was the culprit behind the murder not only of the victim Chloe had been investigating but also of the church’s actual priest, who had disappeared several months before. Gregoire had taken over the parish and the priest’s house around the same time that Kinley had been arrested, giving him plenty of time to renovate and prepare his twisted plan. Dan clearly suspected that something else was going on—he kept asking why Chloe and Lucifer were targeted, why the walls needed to be made of such thick steel—but Chloe waved his questions away, citing her exhaustion and need for rest.

Truth to be told, she _was_ exhausted, mentally and physically and emotionally. She spent the next few days moving painstakingly from bed to shower to couch and back again, relying on her friends to bring her meals and look after Trixie. She checked her phone almost constantly to see if Lucifer had texted or called, but there was nothing. She composed message after message to him and then erased them before she could press send, unsure of how to express herself in words. The radio silence was driving her crazy, but the longer she waited, the more nervous she became.

As the aches disappeared from her muscles and joints, her gait becoming less uneven when she walked, she knew she was running out of excuses. She was recovering, then recovered, and there was no reason not to talk to him. But it wasn’t until she got the call that Mazikeen had finally found her bounty—hauling Father Gregoire into the precinct like a sack of moldy potatoes, in Dan’s words—that something in Chloe snapped, unable to take it any longer.

She found herself at Lux, limping through the crowded dance floor towards the elevator. She thought about stopping by the bar for a shot, just to boost her confidence, but she knew that if she let herself take a detour now, she’d never get to that penthouse.

The ride up seemed faster than normal, and all too soon, she found herself stepping into the familiar room, taking in the bar, the piano, the shelves lined with ancient books. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, relieved to see everything as usual, with no ghostly white dust covers. Perhaps this time, he hadn’t run so far.

“Lucifer?” she called out, her voice sounding faint and timid.

For a brief moment, she worried that he was gone after all, leaving so quickly that he hadn’t even boarded up his home like before.

But then he stepped inside from the balcony, whisky in hand, the lights from the city illuminating him from behind. He wasn’t wearing a suit jacket, his dress shirt half-untucked, his feet bare.

“Detective?” He seemed genuinely surprised to see her. “What are you doing here?”

“I… You didn’t come to see me. In the hospital.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to see me.”

“Lucifer…” she began, trying to gather her thoughts.

“Listen, Detective, I need to apologize.” He set his glass down on the piano and stepped towards her, cautiously, as if he fully expected her to flinch away. “You have every right to be angry with me. I let my own desires get in the way of what you really wanted and needed, deluding myself into thinking you were making a rational decision. It was selfish, and I understand I crossed a line, that it was unforgivable…”

“Lucifer, stop! No, you… you only did what I asked of you. I _was_ thinking clearly, rationally, in that moment, I swear. That’s… that’s not what I was upset about.”

Her partner’s eyes narrowed—confused, skeptical. “But you… Are you saying you did want me to… to touch you?”

“Yes.”

“Even though you know who I am? _What_ I am?”

“Yes.”

He swallowed, still seeming afraid to take her at her word. “And that doesn’t repulse you now?”

“Of course not.” Chloe was reminded of a similar moment, months earlier, in the barn on that godawful Cabin reality show, before Lucifer had discovered her betrayal. She’d pressed the edge of the ax into his chest, finally comprehending just how dangerous it was for him to be near her, still trying to understand why he would put himself in harm’s way. She now echoed his words back to him. “Don’t you know that, Lucifer?”

He let out a puff of disbelieving laughter, reaching again for his whisky and downing the rest of the glass like it was water before replying.

“Why were you so angry, then?”

Chloe stumbled over her words, even though she’d been rehearsing them in her head for days.

“When I woke up after… after the drug wore off, there was a moment when I thought maybe I had… suffocated you. Killed you.”

Clearly, that was not what Lucifer had expected to hear.

“Killed me?” He laughed again, this time with more humor behind it. “Detective, a little face riding is nothing I can’t handle. I’ve managed to pleasure scores of other women that way for much longer than I did with you, and I’ve never been the worse for wear.”

“But that’s just it. I’m not other women. I… can hurt you. Somehow. And I don’t know how this whole vulnerability thing works, or if it applies to your need for oxygen, and if you had died because of me and my selfishness, punished because of my failure, I don’t know how I could ever live with myself.”

Lucifer paused for a moment at that, as if he hadn’t really considered before whether suffocation counted as an injury he could suffer in her presence. But when he spoke again, he picked out another of her words, veering away from the logistics of celestial vulnerability. “Your failure? To send me back to Hell?”

She shook her head vehemently. “No, to… to trust you. To trust myself about you. Lucifer, I have always known who you are, even if I used to think you were just speaking in metaphors. And when I saw your other face, I should have known that nothing had changed. You hadn’t changed. My gut kept telling me to trust that you were still Lucifer, _my_ Lucifer, but I let fear take over, make me doubt my own instincts. I failed _you_ , Lucifer. I failed my partner.”

His eyes were blown wide, mouth parted slightly, still as a statue. Something tangled deep within him was bubbling to the surface, she could tell, but she couldn’t quite read what he was feeling now.

He stayed quiet, so she pressed on.

“But then that day, when you saw that the drug was going to hurt me… Even though I failed you, betrayed your trust, you still put everything aside for me, no matter how uncomfortable or even torturous for you. It’s like you tried to take on all that punishment for yourself. You were so adamant that your pants stay on, not just because you thought I didn’t want you, but because you didn’t think you deserved that pleasure.”

Chloe could tell she was right when he half-turned, back towards the open doors of the balcony, as if trying to hide his heart from her gaze, as if he could make his feelings less real by stopping her from naming them.

“But I would have given it to you. Even in the worst moments, it was never just the drug talking,” she continued.

She saw that look of panic in his eyes again, a frantic pull away from some cliff. He tried to protest, but she cut him off.

“And there you go again, using me to punish yourself. Lucifer, why… why didn’t you stop me when you couldn’t breathe? You could have moved me with the strength in your little finger—so why didn’t you?”

“I… Well, I…” Lucifer cast about for an answer. “You were so… so close, and I didn’t want to… get in your way.”

Chloe shook her head. “No, see, this… this is why I’m angry. Because when it really matters, you don’t just refuse to advocate for yourself or protect yourself—you actively hurt yourself. For me. And that is not fair to me.” She took a beat to try and wrangle her breath back under control, chest heaving, tears pricking at her eyes. “You know, out of all the terrible things I faced that day… torture, and guilt, and even thinking for a moment that I might actually have killed you… do you wanna know what the worst thing was? The real punishment?”

Lucifer seemed close to tears, too, staring at a spot on the far wall as if looking at her would cause him to spontaneously combust.

“It was knowing that you care so little about yourself that you would willingly shatter yourself into a million pieces, give up every chance for a shred of happiness… for me.”

Chloe didn’t wait for him to respond. She had suddenly come to a decision on a choice she hadn’t been aware she was making, but now that she knew what she wanted to do, she was sure, resolute. She strode towards him, catching him off-guard, grabbing the lapels of his jacket to whirl him around and capture his lips with her own.

Unlike the other two times they’d kissed, Lucifer stayed absolutely frozen, not even bothering to close his eyes. It wasn’t until she pulled back and began working to undo the zipper of his slacks that he moved again, surprised out of stillness.

“Detective, what are you doing?” he gasped, hands flying up to encircle her wrists.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

Deliberately, she sank to her knees before him, the darkening of his eyes sparking a small twinge of satisfaction in her. But the lust was soon replaced by panic again, and he laughed, almost hysterically.

“You really… really don’t have to do that.”

Chloe smirked up at him. “Are you seriously refusing a blowjob right now? You?”

He stammered. “No, I… I just didn’t think you wanted…”

“I do want, Lucifer. I want to take care of you like you took care of me. Return the favor.”

She pulled at her wrists experimentally, but his grip stayed firm.

“It wasn’t a favor, Detective. You don’t owe me anything in return. It was… a gift.”

“Okay, then. You gave me a gift. Why can’t I give you something?”

“Because…” His voice was entirely too high, too close to cracking. “It’s not the same. It… It wouldn’t be for the same reasons, and I…”

“Okay, so what were your reasons?”

Lucifer let go of her wrists and stepped back, his long limbs allowing him to put himself out of her reach in a single stride. He took a shuddering breath, then began to pace, back and forth in front of the full glass panes separating them from the balcony, his hands gesturing awkwardly as if he weren’t sure what to do with them.

Chloe huffed and rolled off of her knees, crossing her legs under her and leaning back against the seat of the Italian leather sofa instead.

“I wanted… I mean, that’s why I… when you were in pain, and I thought… I just… UGH!” he groaned in frustration. Finally, he paused, turning to face her again, his expression desperate and haunted. “Don’t you know by now, Chloe? Don’t you know how I feel about you? That I…”

He gazed at her, helplessly, begging her to fill in the blanks, but she shook her head. She wanted to hear him say it.

His voice broke, barely a whisper.

“That I love you.”

She returned his gaze steadily as she stood up, trying not to show the way her heart leapt at the words, trying not to let her own rapidly overflowing emotions break her voice, too.

“And how do you know my reasons aren’t exactly the same?”

Chloe could read the answer plainly in his eyes— _Because I’m the Devil_ —but she also saw there something which looked suspiciously like hope. Amazed, disbelieving, and faint—but it was hope, and it gave her the courage to continue.

“That’s what I realized that day, in Gregoire’s house of all places. I’ve felt this way for a while, but I have been too scared to acknowledge it—not scared of you, but of how I feel about you, because it’s… huge and deep and completely out of my control, and I don’t like not being in control. But… I don’t want to run away anymore, not from you and not from how much I love you.” Here she brought her gaze back to his, locking eyes, speaking carefully so he’d know it was the truth. “And I _do_ love you, Lucifer. I love you, and… I want you.”

She held out her hand towards him, palm up, offering, and Lucifer moved to take it, gingerly, like he was scared it might explode.

“I’ve seen you and I know you, Lucifer. The good, the bad, and… the Devil. I may not understand it all yet, but I do love you, for… for _all_ of it.”

This time, when her lips met Lucifer’s, his hands came up immediately to cup her face, and he leaned into the kiss, delicately but fully engaged. For the first time since entering the penthouse, Chloe felt that she could really, truly breathe. She wrapped her arms around him, letting her mouth part under his. There were tears on her cheeks, but she wasn’t quite sure if they were hers or Lucifer’s, and it didn’t matter anyway, because he was kissing her, letting himself be kissed. 

When Chloe finally pulled back, she found Lucifer watching her in wonder, leaving his hands pressed along her jaw. She could see that he was still having trouble believing this, and probably would for a long time to come—he was, after all, the original poster child for parental abuse, manipulation, and abandonment—but he wasn’t running.

“You know, I wasn’t bluffing about the blowjob,” she whispered, flashing a teasing smile through her tears. “If you want it, that is.”

Lucifer let out a small, uncertain laugh. “You weren’t?”

“The other day, you took care of me. Extremely well, I might add. You… Well, I’m not sure how I would have gotten through that without you. And, uh, you might have a few millennia of experience on me, but… despite what Maze might believe, I’m not a complete stick in the mud.”

That got a real smile from him, and the sight of it made Chloe feel warm and invincible.

“You took care of me,” she repeated. “Now it’s my turn. Let me show you how much I care about you, Lucifer. How much you _deserve_ to be cared about.”

Lucifer bit his lip, letting one of his thumbs run up and down the curve of her cheek, and for a second, Chloe thought he might still say no.

But finally he let out a soft “okay” and kissed her once more, and he didn’t protest when she drifted down onto her knees, watching instead with a look that could only be described as utter adoration.

And if the Devil adored her?

That was the only aphrodisiac Chloe needed.


End file.
